


fill the empty parts

by Nununununu



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Developing Friendships, Don't copy to another site, Feelings, Holding Hands, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Touching, Understanding, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nununununu/pseuds/Nununununu
Summary: Cassian is smiling – a slight but undeniable twitch upwards to the corner of his lips. This hasn’t happened before.Something must be wrong.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/K-2SO
Comments: 16
Kudos: 48
Collections: Turing Fest 2020





	fill the empty parts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bright_Elen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bright_Elen/gifts).



> For Bright_Elen. I hope you like this <3
> 
> Title from [i do not want to have you](https://poetrying.wordpress.com/2016/10/20/i-do-not-want-to-have-you-rupi-kaur/) by rupi kaur
> 
> _cause the two of us combined_   
>  _could set it on fire_
> 
> (Originally posted 30/06; date changed to match author reveals)

Cassian is smiling – a slight but undeniable twitch upwards to the corner of his lips. This hasn’t happened before.

Something must be wrong.

“Are you poisoned?” K-2 demands. Placing a hand on the man’s shoulder with carefully calculated timing and pressure, he stops him walking through the tediously tame flora they’ve been navigating as they return to their ship after concluding an unusually straightforward – and thus terminally dull – mission, conducting a quick scan when Cassian glances up at him and blinks.

“Why would I be poisoned?” He sounds oddly absentminded which is mildly alarming, given he is typically one of the most focused organics K-2 has encountered, in as far as it comes to missions and the Rebellion. He has yet to witness Cassian portraying concern about anything else.

Cassian is rubbing the back of his head, ruffling the hair there until it stands upright. His shoulders are still fifteen percent more relaxed than normal; his face is illuminated by sunlight falling on them through the canopy of the trees surrounding them.

There’s a tiny white and gold flower caught on the cuff of his sleeve. He looks – tired, but not as much as usual, which is irrational given he only succeeded in obtaining three point two hours of sleep last night, after waking from a moderately difficult nightmare in comparison to those he usually suffers. He’s squinting a little from the sunlight, his body giving off more heat than usual regardless of the weather being four degrees under what the majority of organics find comfortable, his proximity pinging at K-2’s sensors in a manner K-2 has come to classify as welcome.

He’s also still smiling.

Something is definitely not right here. The hum of K-2’s processors increases as he initiates his analytic programming.

“The pickup was conducted seemingly smoothly, but I failed to allow for the possibility of unknown contaminants,” Self-directed irritation running through his circuits at the lapse, he produces the general antidote and antihistamines he has taken to carrying after eight months’ acquaintance with Cassian and the man’s assorted risk taking, following Cassian when he sidesteps, “Hold still and let me shoot you with this.”

“I don’t need – K-2, quit it,” Premature wrinkles deepen on Cassian’s brow as he bats away K-2’s hand – something K-2 chooses to let him, when all his old programming would have interpreted it as a futile attempt at attack – but he doesn’t seem frustrated or irate or despondent, emotions K-2 is all too familiar with identifying by now, however the man might endeavour to repress them.

“Then what _is_ the matter? You are not otherwise injured or sick,” Conceding, K-2 tucks the medical supplies away for safekeeping until the next time Cassian requires them, something he has no difficulty in predicting will occur sooner rather than later, “Your expression is off.”

“My expression?” Said expression immediately smooths out into the imperturbable mask Cassian often wears.

“Stop that,” K-2 pokes his cheek, Cassian perhaps surprised enough to permit it, given he must see it coming but signally fails to shift back.

This is entirely strange.

While K-2 has run multiple stimulations of prodding or otherwise needling Cassian since meeting the man and has predicted no little satisfaction on simply completing such an act, his calculations are inconclusive when it comes to estimating how Cassian will respond.

At best his mask will fracture and he will be angry or annoyed at the liberty taken – outside of mission situations in which he can display radically different but false behaviour, he has always been notably less inclined towards physical contact than his fellow organic Rebels, and few intrude on his space as a result.

At worst he will retreat further into himself in the way he sometimes does and K-2 will be left to endure the consequent lack of attention.

And he does so want Cassian’s attention.

“Stop what?” Cassian isn’t angry. Instead his whole face crumples for an instant, whatever emotion triggering it then swiftly overcome – if not quickly enough given how closely K-2’s processors are trained on him. Rather than knocking it away again, he also completely unexpectedly catches K-2’s hand.

Heat begins to gather under K-2’s plating, his fans picking up to disperse it.

“I –” Having been prepared to regret the rash action or chafe at any scolding, he finds he is instead confounded enough by both his own and Cassian’s reactions that the speech command falters and stops. Running quickly through several folders’ worth of potential responses he could use to explain away his own behaviour, the best K-2 can find is, “Stop – not lying; I know you are not lying right now; you’re much better at that than – whatever this is.”

“Whatever this is?” Cassian runs his free hand through his hair – from his forehead right over to the back of his head this time, although the gesture fails to tame the strands sticking up, “K-2, I’m –” He looks almost shifty for a moment, which he _never_ does. A small start passing through him as he seems to register he’s still holding K-2’s hand, shooting a look down at it, although he doesn’t let go. Adjusts his weight from one foot to another, rolls his shoulders and glances up at K-2 through his lashes, then away.

Really, if K-2 hadn’t decided that he liked this man the majority of the time, such behaviour would be _infuriating_.

Instead he finds the fingers of his free hand flexing, wanting to reach out to further touch – Cassian’s cheek again; the place where his hair is sticking up; the curve of his shoulder. His chest, where it rises and falls with his breath and his heart beats.

“If you have to know – I suppose I’m in a good mood,” Cassian doesn’t seem to be able to look at him to admit this. He hunches his shoulders slightly as if the confession will herald disaster. K-2 isn’t discounting the possibility.

“You are – happy,” This certainly isn’t an emotion he’s previously had chance to award to Cassian. No wonder he didn’t recognise it, “Why?”

Cassian laughs in a way that also seems a little sad, but – not.

“We’re not under fire,” This explanation seems ridiculously inadequate, “The mission went successfully; you got to charge beforehand and I got to eat proper food. The weather’s decent – take your pick. We don’t have to risk our lives in the next couple of hours that I’m aware of, although really I guess it’s mostly because –”

“This is all appallingly positive of you,” K-2 complains, at the same time as Cassian finishes his list, shrugging a little helplessly, much as if he doesn’t fully intend to admit it.

“You’re here.”

The power surge that runs through K-2’s circuits forces him to reset both his optics and his vocabulator.

“It’s possible I misheard that last comment,” He didn’t, but Cassian occasionally appears appreciative of being given an excuse and this is something K-2 has begun training himself to provide when the situation may benefit from it, as ineffective as he has largely proved at it so far.

This effort is potentially more successful – it _is_ possible he misheard, if only by zero point zero one two five percent. He waits for Cassian to agree.

“Mm, perhaps,” Instead Cassian is considering their still linked hands, small darting glances he hasn’t before indulged in. He is usually far more adept at pretending not to look. The ball of his thumb also swipes over K-2’s knuckles, before he lets go, looking guilty, “Sorry.”

K-2 has no explanation for why he experiences something approaching loss.

“I have no idea why you’re apologising,” He considers the situation anew, based on the wholly unexpected revelation of Cassian’s happiness. The temperate sunlight and the scent of those little white and gold flowers he’d previously dismissed, the relaxed angle of Cassian’s jaw, the lessening of the usual tension in his back. “I like you being happy.”

This conclusion is easy to reach. It also makes an intriguing amount of heat bloom in Cassian’s face.

“K-2, are you –” Stepping closer, his dark eyes scan K-2’s faceplate, “Are _you_ happy? I mean – maybe not now, but when you blew up that factory yesterday, perhaps? Or took down all those troopers this morning? I’m guessing that was entertaining, right. You like fighting.”

“I do,” K-2 confirms, “While an organic term, if you could take it upon yourself to be happy while we take down a Star Destroyer, I predict I could then potentially describe myself similarly.”

Really, here, now, with Cassian like this – yes, K-2’s probably happy as well. Not that he feels the need to use such a term. But power is flowing more easily through his circuits, as if something deep within his systems has eased, and his processors are running at full capacity, and the thought of Cassian’s happiness has given him multiple intriguing new scenarios to contemplate.

While this emotion occurring again unfortunately seems unlikely given its probable rarity, K-2 now knows the man is capable of it. And perhaps K-2 might succeed in finding a means of inducing it, if he tries.

He can certainly ensure Cassian has access to what he deems ‘proper’ food when the situation allows, for a start. Even if he usually has to remind the man to eat.

Other factors aside, it occurs to K-2 for the first time that the typical bland mission rations allocated to organic operatives are perhaps part of the reason why.

“A Star Destroyer, huh?” That smile from earlier is back, tugging at Cassian’s lips. Given the man’s relaxed state, K-2 lets himself indulge the urge to trace the edges of that smile, broadcasting the movement before making contact, his systems all skipping when Cassian actually leans into it a few degrees and licks his lips, “I’m presuming lots of explosives and a quick escape?”

“Yes,” K-2 thinks to agree a fraction too late, caught up as he is in the man, “Your happiness is also a prerequisite.”

“I, ah – I don’t know why that would be –” Cassian uncharacteristically fumbles, his heartrate increasing, “Fine, if you insist.”

He steps in again amazingly, until his chest presses against the palm K-2 moves to rest gently against it, the feel of that beat reverberating through advanced sensors like something inexplicably necessary for his own wellbeing.

“I do,” K-2 doesn’t ever want Cassian to move back. He also doesn’t quite know what to do to keep from breaking this moment, so he modulates his vocabulator until it’s at its softest setting, “Cassian. I believe you were promising me a Star Destroyer?”

“If that’s what it takes,” His gaze steady on K-2’s optics, Cassian’s lips crook enough that a previously entirely unknown hint of dimples appear in his cheeks, “All right, let’s see what we can do about it.”


End file.
